


You're So Golden

by madalaena



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Kitchen Sex, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Summer, Unsafe Sex, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:54:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22982851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madalaena/pseuds/madalaena
Summary: “I was thinking breakfast in town,” Mitch continues, cupping the back of Dylan's head. “I don't want to cook.”“I don't want you to cook, either,” Dylans agrees, muffled into Mitch's throat.Mitch sighs when Dylan starts kissing down his neck. “Jeez,” he says. “I didn’t see you complaining about the breakfast I brought you in bed yesterday.”Dylan laughs. “Yeah, untoasted Pop-Tarts,” he says. “And then I ate your ass.”
Relationships: Mitch Marner/Dylan Strome
Comments: 6
Kudos: 69
Collections: The Dylan Strome Celebration 2020





	You're So Golden

**Author's Note:**

  * For [somehowunbroken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehowunbroken/gifts).



Early in the summer Mitch takes Dylan to a cottage on the North Carolina coast. Dylan likes it here, the wide-slatted floorboards and linen couches and a deck that sprawls out into tall, whistling seagrass. He likes how it feels like the kind of place you go with your boyfriend - like Mitch is his boyfriend. Like when they leave this place they'll be going back to a shared apartment or a shared life. 

It's always impossible to leave Mitch after weeks like this. Dylan’s still learning how to compartmentalize, to lock away the scant moments they have together during the year in a place where he can’t think about them when it’s two am and the backend of a road-trip and he hasn’t heard anything but a text message from Mitch in days and he’s feeling like a lonely asshole. 

Mitch is a lot better at that part. 

Mitch, who’s right at home here at the beach, going out to swim in the ocean one morning when the surf's choppy and rough. It makes Dylan nervous, but Mitch's body is as strong as it's ever been and he's good in the water. Dylan watches him for a while, his head a miniscule dot as it bobs far past the wave break, then goes inside to make coffee. 

The screen door opens with a creak a few minutes later. Mitch's skin is sticky damp when he presses himself along Dylan's back in the little breakfast nook. His lips are gentle on the sore spots of Dylan's neck. 

“Hi,” Mitch murmurs, soft. His fingers creep beneath the thin cotton of Dylan's sleep shirt. 

“How's the water?” Dylan asks, tilting his head to the side to let Mitch mouth at the thin skin below his ear. It makes him shiver. 

“It's pretty cold, still,” Mitch says. It’s early June. There’s still a chill in the air in the late evenings; he can feel the cool press of Mitch’s bare chest even through his shirt. “You should get out there with me sometime.” 

Dylan snorts. “That would cut into my sunbathing time.” 

He turns around in Mitch’s arms, then moves them so Mitch is pressed against the counter. He wants to be kissing Mitch as much as possible all the time, greedy for it every moment that he's allowed to have it and Mitch obliges. He cups Mitch’s cheek, one hand spanning the width of Mitchs’s lower back, kissing his lips that taste like salt-air and faintly of spearmint toothpaste. Dylan’s touch is firm when he tilts Mitch's chin back with one finger, mouthing wetly down his throat. 

He’s focused on his task at hand, but Mitch interrupts him. “You got anything special in mind for today? You wanna check out the shops? Chill out here again? I'm not saying I'm opposed to it but it might be nice to stretch our legs a bit. We can go buy souvenirs, you know that real tacky shit.” 

“Mitchy,” Dylan says. He knows Mitch is messing with him because he can feel his dick pressing hard against Dylan’s thigh. He wants this too, but he loves to make Dylan work for it. 

“I was thinking breakfast in town,” Mitch continues, cupping the back of Dylan's head. “I don't want to cook.”

“I don't want you to cook, either,” Dylans agrees, muffled into Mitch's throat. He huffs when Mitch pinches his bicep but it doesn't deter him from sucking a mark beneath Mitch’s ear, right at the hinge of his jaw. 

Mitch sighs when Dylan starts kissing down his neck. “Jeez,” he says. “I didn’t see you complaining about the breakfast I brought you in bed yesterday.” 

Dylan laughs. “Yeah, untoasted Pop-Tarts,” he says. “And then I ate your ass.” 

“Hey!” Mitch bristles, but he’s doing a really poor job pretending to be offended because he’s also rubbing his hard dick against Dylan’s thigh. “It’s not like that took zero prep work. I mean, who do you think opened those Pop-Tarts for you? Who do you think got up at seven am to wash their -,”

“Fuck, Mitch,” Dylan interrupts, cutting him off with a kiss. 

Mitch pulls away after a few minutes. “This is not exactly conducive to us getting breakfast,” he points out breathlessly.

"Breakfast wasn't my idea anyway," Dylan says. He cradles Mitch’s jaw and kisses his mouth again until Mitch opens up for him. His tongue is soft and warm against Dylan's lips and his stomach flexes when Dylan brushes his fingertips against it. His swimming trunks are still damp, and they catch on his thighs when Dylan tries to tug them down. “Mitchy, help me out,” he murmurs. 

Mitch grins, biting his lip as he shimmies out of the trunks. They hit the floor with a wet plop and Mitch kicks them off his legs and to the side. 

“This  _ really _ isn’t conducive to us getting breakfast,” Mitch says with a sly grin. He’s so pleased with himself. Even though Dylan’s done all the work, Mitch has him exactly where he wants him. Mitch starts trying to get Dylan undressed, but Dylan stops him with his fingers around Mitch’s narrow wrist. 

“Can I fuck you?” he asks. It would be good to rub their dicks together just like this until they came all over each other, messy between their thighs and bellies, but Dylan is selfish. His relationship with Mitch is composed mostly of scattered collections of free days and stolen moments on the phone while they’re hundreds of miles apart. It’s impossible for Dylan not to take everything Mitch will let him have. 

Mitch’s eyelids flutter. “Yeah,” he says. “I want you to.” 

“Shit,” Dylan says. “Turn around.” He pats Mitch’s hip. Mitch does, pressing his palms against the counter. The line of his body is strong and lean and narrow; his back muscles are bunched around his spine and his waist looks almost delicate in contrast. His ass is round and pale. When Dylan

touches it, the skin is still clammy from his wet swim trunks. “Get down on your forearms,” Dylan says. “No, put your face on the counter. Bend over all the way.” 

Dylan can see the shudder that runs through Mitch’s body. 

“Baby,” Mitch says. “Ask me nicely.” 

“Jesus, fuck. Mitch, please,” Dylan says. 

A little giggle erupts out of Mitch. “‘Kay,” he agrees, and bends over until his cheek is pressed against the cool stone countertop and his back is arched, legs spread enough to give Dylan a view of his little pink hole, his balls and his hard cock. 

“Reach back and hold yourself open for me,” Dylan says. Mitch starts to speak, but Dylan interrupts him, “Please, baby. Let me see it.” 

Mitch’s tongue peeks out, wetting his lips as he exhales loudly through his mouth. The flush staining his skin creeps down his neck and over his shoulders. “Yeah, okay,” he says, and reaches behind himself to pull his ass apart. His skin there is pretty and pink, hairless because Mitch keeps it that way. The way his tiny hole stretches makes Dylan's stomach flip. 

Dylan presses the little furrow with his thumb, feeling it give against his firm touch. The pad of his thumb starts to sink inside Mitch’s warm body. His fingers twitch on his ass cheeks. 

“Dyl,” Mitch moans. “Fuck, you just -,” 

Dylan stares at his thumb for a moment, entranced, before he asks, “What?” 

“You sound so stupid right now,” Mitch continues, words muffled into the counter. “You’re mouth-breathing like such a bitch.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m staring at your asshole,” Dylan says, not even arguing. It’s pointless. Mitch knows him. He knows Dylan’s strung out for him. 

“Fuck, yeah you are,” Mitch agrees, shivering. His hole twitches, and Dylan’s thumb sinks a little further inside. Mitch groans and pushes into it, like he wants to swallow up Dylan’s thumb totally dry. “How’s it look, baby?” 

Dylan grunts and shoves his thumb the rest of the way in. Mitch's ass is warm and tight around it, flexing and releasing around the sudden intrusion, and his back bows. "It's okay, I guess," Dylan says. 

Mitch scoffs. "You guess." 

Dylan bites his lip, conscious of the way his exhale whooshes through his teeth. "You look so pretty like this, Mitchy," he says, staring at the space where his thumb sinks inside Mitch's body and the way Mitch is trying to accommodate him. "You're so pretty right here. You know I love it." 

"I know you do," Mitch says softly. "I love you, too."

It takes a moment for Mitch's words to register, but Dylan's fingers tighten on his hip when they do. "Fuck," he says. "You're a sap." 

"Yeah, but I do love you." 

The air between them feels strangely tender. It's filthy but it's intimate having Mitch pinned over the kitchen counter and telling Dylan he loves him. It isn't always their speed, because sometimes Mitch just wants Dylan to fold him in half and fuck his brains out, and sometimes he wants Dylan to suck his dick until he's crying, but sometimes he wants to tell Dylan he loves him while Dylan's thumb is buried in his ass. Usually Dylan is half a step behind and just trying to keep up. 

Dylan says, "I'm gonna fuck you, Mitchy."

Mitch giggles. "Finally," he says. "I've been waiting. I've been patient."

Dylan rolls his eyes but keeps his mouth shut. When he pulls his thumb out he watches in fascination as Mitch's little hole closes back into a tight little pucker, like Dylan was never inside him at all. 

"Hey," Dylan says, tapping Mitch's ass cheek. "Spread yourself a little wider."

Mitch groans. "Ah, fuck," he says, face flushing. His hips move restlessly looking for friction as he moves his middle fingers on either side of his asshole and tugs it apart so it stretches like elastic. It's light pink and so smooth and stretched like this it could almost be a pussy. If Dylan got it wet, it would look just like a wet pussy. 

"Fuck, goddamn," he says. "Stay there." 

Mitch lets out a weak laugh. "Nowhere to go," he says. Dylan bends over and presses a kiss to the back of his neck before jogging a few steps to the foyer of the house and grabbing Mitch’s beach bag. There's a bottle of lotion in it that Mitch has been spreading obsessively over his sunburn and Dylan grabs it and runs back to the kitchen because he’s too impatient to search their bedroom for the lube that one of them discarded somewhere in the sheets late last night. 

“Wait, is that my lotion?” Mitch asks, a little whiny. “Hey, that was like, fifty bucks.” 

Dylan huffs. “I’m definitely good for it. I promise. I don’t wanna go look for the lube,” he says, squirting some into his hand and pulling his dick over the waistband of his boxers. He smears it all over, getting himself wet. It smells like coconut and lime, summery and light and the way Mitch’s skin has smelled every time Dylan has pressed his face against it for the last three days. 

He wipes the excess on Mitch’s hole, steadying him with a hand on his hip when he jerks. “Shit, ‘s cold,” Mitch says. 

“Sorry,” Dylan shrugs, even though he isn’t. He lines his slick cockhead up with Mitch's hole and pushes in just a little. Mitch's fingers clench down so hard on his ass that they turn bright white, and he moans loudly, something hovering between pain and pleasure. There's a little puddle of drool gathering on the countertop beneath his open mouth. 

"Ahhhhh. Ah, fuck. Fuck," Mitch says when Dylan fits the head all the way inside. Dylan rubs his lower back. His shoulder muscles are bunched. After a moment, he drops his hands from his ass, bringing them in fists up next to his head.

"Does it hurt?" Dylan murmurs, stroking his spine. 

"Yeah," Mitch says. "But not bad. It’s okay."

His hair is damp and curling on the back of his neck. At this point Dylan can’t tell if it’s from the ocean water or sweat. The scent of coconut and lime and briny saltwater from Mitch’s skin hangs between them. “Okay, baby. I’m gonna keep going, okay? Relax a little for me, you’re so tight,” Dylan says. “Just breathe, baby.” 

It takes a moment, but eventually Mitch grunts and exhales, hole rippling around Dylan’s cock before it unclenches just enough for Dylan to slip forward a few more inches so his cock is halfway inside. “Oh shit,” Mitch whines. It gets louder when Dylan grips his hips and pushes the rest of the way inside. 

“Shit, shit,” Dylan echoes. He pulls out slowly, feeling the tug of Mitch’s hole on his dick. The wet squelch of the lotion sounds filthy and Dylan’s breathing is choppy and harsh. He already feels like he could come. “Shit, Mitch, this isn’t going to take long.” 

“Ugh,” Mitch sighs, punctuated with a groan when Dylan shoves back into him. “Help me out then.” 

He sounds so indignant that Dylan has to laugh, but he reaches a hand around to fist Mitch’s dick with his hand that’s already messy with lotion. Mitch moans when he grabs it, jerking forward, and Dylan fucks into him hard. He’s so tight it’s insane. Dylan can’t keep his head on straight. It doesn’t matter how many times he fucks Mitch, or how many ways - it never stops being better and better and better than all the times he ever has before. 

“Mitch,” Dylan says after only a few minutes, hand shifting over the head of Mitch’s leaking cock. He bends down awkwardly and kisses the exposed corner of Mitch’s mouth, licking a drop of sweat from his hairline. “Fuck, I’m real close already. I’m sorry.” 

“No, no,” Mitch whines. “Me too, just - fuck me, Dyl, c’mon.” 

Dylan does. He gets leverage with a hand on his lower back and for the last minute and a half of stamina he’s got left proceeds to completely rail him into the kitchen counter. Dylan knows he’s going to have bruises all over his hips tomorrow, but he doesn’t care. Right before Dylan feels himself about to come, Mitch shouts. 

"Dyl, fuck," he, clenching down in waves on Dylan’s dick. Dylan moans. “Dylan, god, I'm coming, I'm gonna -"

"Yeah, c'mon." 

“Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck _ ,” Mitch cries out. Dylan can feel his dick spurt, spilling come all over the cabinet door in long, messy streaks. Dylan growls, clamping his arm around Mitch’s midsection and lifting, forehead tucked against Mitch’s shoulder. Sweat drips from Dylan’s hair and rolls down Mitch’s back; it should be disgusting, but it just makes Dylan shiver thinking about it sliding into Mitch’s ass crack and mixing with the mess of lotion slipping between Mitch’s skin and Dylan’s pelvis. 

Mitch whimpers when Dylan fucks in deep. Dylan knows Mitch likes when he keeps fucking him after he comes, but he didn’t even stretch him this time - it’s gotta hurt a little.

“Sorry, baby, sorry,” Dylan murmurs. “Almost, okay?”

“Please,” Mitch says, and Dylan groans, shoving Mitch’s face down again. His fingers tighten in Mitch’s hair, and a moment later he stills and comes. It's objectively kinda gross - lotion and sweat and come all pooling in the slippery mess of Mitch’s asshole, but Dylan pulls out anyway so he can look at it. 

“Hey,” he says, tapping Mitch’s ass. “Lemme see.” 

Mitch groans from where he’s collapsed forward into the counter, lifting a hand to flip him off. 

“Holy fuck,” he says. “You are the neediest motherfucker I’ve ever met.” But he reaches around to spread his ass open again for Dylan anyway. It gives Dylan a head rush.

“Fuck,” Dylan says, running a finger through the mess. “You’re filthy. Your ass looks destroyed.” 

“God, I love how romantic you are,” Mitch sighs, dropping his hands and turning around. He tugs Dylan into an easy kiss, opening his mouth lazily until their tongues touch. 

“I am romantic,” Dylan insists, stealing another kiss. “I’m romantic all the time. Just not when we fuck.” 

Mitch snorts. “Shit. That’s true, I guess,” he says. “You know how you can be romantic now?”

“How?” Dylan asks. He wraps his arms around Mitch’s narrow waist and feels his soft, sticky dick catch on the hairs of his thigh. 

“Go fill up a bath for me. A bubble bath,” Mitch says. “And wash my hair. And make me breakfast.” 

“Wow,” Dylan says. “Okay, your highness.” 

Mitch rolls his eyes. “I mean,” he says, motioning to his ass and lifting his eyebrows at Dylan. 

And, well, Dylan supposes that’s pretty fair. 


End file.
